


Tempered Steel

by AlannasTara



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Angst, Comfort, Eventual Romance, F/F, Femslash, Friendship, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-23
Updated: 2016-03-28
Packaged: 2018-03-25 09:00:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3804535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlannasTara/pseuds/AlannasTara
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fire could not kill her...Flames could not burn her. She was iron. She was steel. She was strong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Fire

She had to do it herself. That's what it always came down to; she could only rely on herself. She was woman enough to accept whatever consequences came her way ( _fuck Rick_ ), but she'd be damned before she became sidelined in her own life again. Before she let others dictate to her, let another man tell her how it was going to be.

She'd been hardened in the fires of her own hell on Earth before the turn; she was iron, she was steel, she was _strong_. The new hell had only tempered her and created the force she knew she had become. The fire could not kill her, the flames could not burn her...

Adapt and survive.

That was the key. Survival. That's all that mattered. All they had time for, really.

It was only at night, when she tossed and turned, kept awake by the blond hair and freckles that haunted her dreams, that she admitted to herself, _she needed more_.

* * *

 

A person could only go for so long without human contact. Without a touch, a loving stroke, a hug, a caress to reinforce that they were still alive. That they were not dead, not yet. That was all she needed: to know she was still alive. She just didn't know how to ask for it.

She had all but given up on any of the men with the group. They were all so mired in their own pain and baggage there was no looking past the end of their noses to see anyone else suffering. She'd done what she could to offer up support and comfort, but her own reserves were tapped. The well had run dry and she had nothing left to give. They were on their own. Either pull themselves up by their bootstraps and face forward, or get left behind.

Like Michonne, she never stopped having her shit together. It was something she observed about the women in the group. They evolved. They changed. They became what they needed to become, to find their niche in this bleak and doomed landscape. They did their jobs.

What did they not do? They didn't take a break from reality. Become so overcome with with grief that they endangered themselves and others. They didn't refuse to take the necessary steps to ensure survival. They didn't leave loose ends. But most importantly, they didn't lose their humanity. Their ties to one another kept them grounded, tethered to that which was real, tangible.

She felt it, felt the desire within her, an aching cavernous hole desperate to be filled with love, compassion, understanding. For someone to offer to her, that which she had more than once given freely to others.

Her emotions flitted all over the spectrum, from anger and bitterness to loneliness and sadness, finally crumpling under the weight of the burden she carried, the knowledge that she was truly alone in a group full of people.

She would have cried...if she'd had any tears left to cry.

* * *

 

It started with stitches. Carol's delicate fingers deftly working to close the wound, blood stained hands stark against the snow white gauze she wound expertly around the gash on the woman's forearm. When it was all over, when the adrenaline faded and she gently grasped Tara's wrist and looked up into her eyes to reassure her, she was startled to find it was Tara whose eyes poured forth comfort and support. As if she knew the pain constantly lurking behind Carol's mask of invisibility, and she sought to alleviate her suffering, no matter the source.

Tara had her own atonement to make. Her own burdens, pain, losses...sins for which she paid the price, in her own head, every day. Every time she looked at Maggie and saw an old man being beheaded. Every time Glenn spoke and she heard the rumble of a tank, explosions, and brick and mortar crashing down. Or even...when she closed her eyes at night, the space in bed next to her empty and cold as she reached for Alisha, forgetting for a moment that she was gone. "I will come for you," echoed in her dreams.

"Thank you, for helping me. I'm such a dumb ass. I never should've tried skinning the damn things. Next time I'm leavin' 'em for Dixon," she grumbled, flicking tiny specks of blood and pieces of fur from her pants leg.

Carol couldn't help but give a tiny smirk as she washed her hands, appreciating the gruff demeanor Tara tried to project. How she tried act tough but really, she was a marshmallow underneath.

"It can take a while to get used to it, but until you heal up a bit more, I'd advise staying away from sharp objects," Carol admonished Tara, softening her words with a genuine smile, one witnessed only by a certain few, though Tara could still see the sadness just haunting the edges of her eyes before Carol turned her back.

"I know we haven't really talked, but you know, if you ever need to talk to someone, I passed my hearing test at the academy with flying colors...," Tara offered, reaching her hand out to clasp Carol's, turning Carol to face her.

Carol's eyes watered, the kindness unexpected, the suggestion tempting, and her stoic facade wavered just for a moment. The gentle touch, the warmth on her skin (like the sun kissing her shoulders in the summer sun so many years ago, while she knelt and worked over her petunias in her flower bed) spread through her body, invading the darkest recesses of her mind leaving a fuzzy sort of serenity in its wake.

She placed her other hand over Tara's, the calluses and rough patches of dry skin on Carol's palm catching on the soft, smooth skin of the back of Tara's hand. She really needed to find some lotion for them, the days spent washing dishes and sanitizing repeatedly while working in the infirmary having dried them out to the point she had small cracks in the bends of her knuckles.

"Thank you," Carol breathed softly, her hushed tone imparting the depth of her gratitude and sincerity, though her words were few, her gaze downcast.

"It's what we do," Tara angled her head, moving until she was where she could look at Carol directly in the eyes, and reiterated, " _It's what we do_."

" _Not everyone_ ," Carol murmured, but Tara was already moving to rise off of her chair, and didn't hear the quietly spoken words.

Tara turned to leave the room, but stopped, standing quietly in the doorway for a few seconds, like she was mulling something over in her mind.

"Did you forget something?" Carol asked, her brow knit as she mentally retraced the steps she had taken patching up Tara's arm, making sure she hadn't left anything out.

"Yeah," Tara seemed to reach a decision, and she strode purposefully towards Carol, coming to a stop right in front of the woman. "This." Tara wrapped her arms around the woman, pressing against her, holding Carol as if she would blow away if not anchored. Tara brought one hand up behind Carol's head, pulling her to her, cradling her head in the crook of Tara's neck.

Carol stiffened at first, so unused to hands touching her without the intent to harm, but after a second, she relaxed into Tara's embrace, soaking up every last moment of closeness, every morsel of affection that she could wring from the embrace. Carol didn't know what the future held. She only knew she was tired of existing in a cold and lonely holding pattern, stagnant. She was grasping, clinging to whatever fire she had left in her, she only needed a spark. She was going to _live_.


	2. Glass

She dusted the flour off her hands, grabbing a hand towel to finish wiping off the granite countertop. Two casseroles down, two more to go. The repetitive familiarity of the task helped keep her distracted, keep her mind off all of the million and one thoughts swirling around, just outside of her consciousness, throughout the day and stretching into the wee hours of the night. Sleep never came easily. It was too hard to let her guard down.

 

She, above all of the others, felt the obligation to protect her family, to give and give and give of herself until there was nothing left. Someone had to keep their head on straight, keep grounded firmly in reality. So she played a part, a role, but she never let herself forget. She couldn’t have forgotten even if she wanted to forget.

 

There were nights she laid in bed and the quiet stillness was like a smothering blanket over her body. She couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, weighed down by the memories. She could still feel in her bones the loneliness and ache that permeated her being when she lay awake in the law firm all night. She still felt the panic and fear that flooded her body when she saw the smoke pouring from the prison. The grief and overwhelming sorrow that washed over her in disbelief as she stared at the wreckage that had been her _home_. Each emotion left its mark on her, stamped and ingrained in her soul.

 

She fought the tears that welled up in her eyes, refusing to give in. She wouldn’t cry. She wouldn’t.

 

She was going to fight. Fight for her family. For herself. For the ones she _loved_. Even if it was the loneliest existence, she was alive. They were alive. She wasn't _really_ alone. Despite how her heart cried out just the opposite.

 

"Carol!"

 

Her heart jumped, startled, so deep in her thoughts she had been that she hadn't even heard the person approach.

 

"Tara! You scared me!"

 

Tara cackled at the look on Carol's face but then her face took on a more compassionate demeanor and she apologized for scaring the "cookie lady," as she was known by some of the kids in Alexandria.

 

"Didn't mean to scare you. I mean, I wasn't stealth-like coming in, and I called your name a few times."

 

"It's fine. Just lost in my head a bit," Carol smiled, forgetting who was standing before her as she tried to play off one of her "Alexandria-special" smiles.

 

She turned back to the counter and reached above her head to pull a mixing bowl off the shelf. Her hands were shaking and before she could catch it the glass bowl slipped from her grasp, shattering upon the floors, shards splintering across the kitchen.

 

“ _Dammit_!”

 

Carol cursed, and felt the corners of her eyes sting, the tell-tale sign of tears starting to well up, and she closed them, quelling the emotion, stamping it back down. She opened them to Tara rushing towards her from around the island, concern written on her face.

 

“Hey, are you okay?”

 

Tara reached out and touched Carol’s elbow, the tiniest caress through her sweater, just letting her know that she was there.

 

“I’m fine.”

 

Carol tried to pull off the smile, but the watery edges fooled no one, and as her face started to crumple, she turned to the pantry to retrieve the broom and dustpan.

 

“I just need to clean up this mess so no one gets hurt. Watch yourself,” Carol’s voice was trembling as she tried to maintain a lighthearted tone, but the catch in her breath as obvious, at least to Tara.

 

Carol came back to the mess to find Tara having picked up most of the larger shards and placed them in an empty cereal box to throw in the trash. Tara squeaked out a note of distress and as she turned, blood dripped down her hands from the cut on her palm. It wasn’t deep, but there was quite a bit of blood.

 

“I swear I’m such a dumbass, I’m sorry-”

 

She looked up to see Carol’s face stark white, bloodless, her eyes frozen on Tara’s hands.

 

“Carol? Carol!”

 

* * *

  


Carol wasn’t responding to Tara, and Tara wasn’t sure what was going on, but she grabbed the dish-towel off the counter and held it to her palm, wrapping it around her hand in a big knot. Her shoes crunched on the remnants of glass as she walked to where Carol was standing and gently removed the broom and dustpan from her hands. She set both on the floor, and led Carol to a stool on the other side of the kitchen. Carol still hadn’t responded, just let herself be led to a seat, and stared blankly out of the smudged, glass pane windows.

 

Tara cleaned up the rest of the glass, washed her hand off, and found a bandage in a first aid kit under the sink in the bathroom. By the time she reached the kitchen again, she halfway expected Carol to be gone.

 

But she wasn’t.

 

Tara sat down, reaching her hand across the table to take Carol’s hand, and was surprised at the strength with which Carol gripped Tara’s hand in hers. Like Tara was her lifeline.

 

Tara just waited, quietly, content to hold Carol’s hand and let her speak in her own time. It was obvious there was something wrong with her, something deep, and poking and prodding at her wasn’t going to help.

 

There was a quiet efficiency to the woman that Tara had noticed in their time on the road together. A self-sacrificing willingness to do for others, at her own expense oftentimes, and the others just seemed to take it for granted. Expect it even. It made her wonder at Carol’s history with the group, just how much had she done for them, without anyone noticing. _Without anyone giving to her, doing for her_.  She didn’t strike Tara as the type who wanted praise.

 

She said she liked being “invisible” here in Alexandria. It’s what she had heard her tell Rick at the “Welcoming” party. That didn’t mean she didn’t have needs. Humans needed companionship. What was it that Rick had said to Daryl? Like it was their own inside “code.”  

 

_No one can make it alone._

 

She felt Carol squeeze her hand again, and looked up to see the woman’s eyes on hers, studying her. There was a storm raging in those eyes. A torrent of pain and suffering swirling in the depths. It hurt _to look upon it_. Tara couldn’t imagine how it felt to actually _feel it_.

 

But if she needed to feel it, then Tara would be there for her. She'd give back. She wouldn't let Carol be alone. Someone needed to care for Carol like she cared for the group, and Tara thought maybe, just maybe, she was up to the task.


	3. Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It had been sheer happenstance that they stumbled upon her at all. Tara still felt her adrenaline pumping, her heart racing just as fast as when she had recognized the woman who was bleeding out, deathly still.

The car bumped along the muddy entrance to Hilltop, Heath behind the wheel trying to balance the speed necessary to seek help for their passenger’s medical condition, with the attempt to cause as little pain as possible in bouncing over the washed out ruts in the road.

 

“We’ve got to hurry!” Tara exclaimed, although trying to keep her voice low and not disturb the woman who was half on the seat, half on her lap. 

 

Tara’s eyes strayed to the blood soaking through the makeshift bandages, staining her hands dark, crimson. She was trying to maintain pressure on the wounds, to stem the flow, but she could see the woman was pale. Weak. Almost unconscious when they had found her. 

 

It had been sheer happenstance that they stumbled upon her at all. Tara still felt her adrenaline pumping, her heart racing just as fast as when she had recognized the woman who was bleeding out, deathly still. 

 

_ Carol.  _

 

Tara wasn't sure what was going on or why Carol had been outside the walls, alone. She knew how strong Carol was, and therefore knew that to get the best of her, it had to have been a big threat. A dangerous one. Worse than the Wolves.

 

Heath helped her get Carol bandaged quickly and loaded into the vehicle, turning at once to head back to Hilltop where he knew there was a doctor. Tara had argued that Denise was a doctor and just as capable, but the fact that Hilltop was closer was the deciding factor. Neither one thought Carol had much time, if the bleeding didn't get stopped.

 

“Hang on, Carol. We're almost there. You hear me? Hang on.” She would have squeezed Carol’s hand if she'd had a free one to do so. 

 

She heard a slight mumble, barely felt the shallow breaths Carol was taking, and the fear began to lash its grip around her heart. Her chest tightened and she felt panic rising like the tide, battering the flood walls of her self control, threatening to spill over in wave after wave. 

 

“Just a little bit longer, c’mon.”

 

Tara's eyes watered and she admitted that she was scared shitless. She had lost so many people already. She couldn't bear to lose more family. Carol was her friend. She'd taken care of Tara more than once. In ways Carol would never know. 

 

Tara remembered the warmth of Carol’s arms wrapped around her in the infirmary. She could still feel Carol’s gentle hand in hers, sitting at their kitchen table. 

 

And Tara, before getting wrapped up in the newness of this thing with Denise, well, she had been trying to help Carol, also. They  _ all _ needed one another.

 

Everything around her dimmed as they pulled up to the gate, and she knew Heath was yelling to the guards but it was all muffled, distant. Her focus was sharpened on these wounds, this point and time in space, she had to keep Carol from bleeding out, she had to. She had to save someone. It was her turn to save someone. She couldn’t always be the one who needed rescuing. 

 

Then there were people gathered around, shouts and voices yelling over one another, hands pressing in this way and that, grabbing and pulling, and Carol was taken from her, hurried away to the Hilltop infirmary. She sat still in the back seat of the car, staring at her lap, pants soaked in blood, both fresh and old. Deep scarlet covering the rust of the dried and aging stains. Her hands sticky with it as they dried... 

 

_ “...she’s bleeding internally. Probably severed her femoral artery.”  _

 

_ “She’s dying.” _

 

_ “Can it be fixed?” _

 

_ “Maybe by a surgeon.” _

 

_ “You were going to be a surgeon.” _

 

_ “But I’m not.” _

 

_ “She was protecting this place. She was guarding us. That’s why we’re here, for each other. You’re afraid? I don’t care. Help her. Try! Help her!” _

 

“TARA!”

 

Tara startled at the yell, looking up to see Heath staring at her, confusion and concern on his face. 

 

“You okay?”

 

“Yeah...I’m fine…” 

 

“I’m going up to the main house. Wanna come with?” Heath motioned up the hill. 

 

“No, I uhh...I think I’m going to uh...I’m going to go wait and see how Carol is.” 

 

Tara climbed, awkwardly and stiff-legged from the back of the car, the denim in her jeans pulling as the fabric came unstuck from her skin. She walked across the compound, eyes unfocused, unseeing…

  
  


_ “Come on, Holly.” _

 

_ “Denise, you tried.” _

 

_ “Please go, all of you.” _

 

_ “Okay but I just--” _

 

_ “Go.” _

 

_ “All I was gonna say is, make sure you get her brain.” _

  
  


“Ooof!” Tara gasped as she tripped on a tree root and hit the ground on her hands and knees. Her fingers curled and clutched in the leaves and dirt between her fingers, cool and soothing. She opened her eyes but everything was blurred through the hot and angry tears she didn’t even know she was crying. 

 

She flipped over onto her back and scooted until she was sitting upright against the tree. Using the hem of her jacket sleeve, she wiped at the wetness on her cheeks, unknowingly smearing a bit of blood and dirt across her face. She stared up at the branches, the slightest rays of sunlight streaming down in beams that criss-crossed the yard in front of her, as if nature itself were trying to force some cheer down upon them. Even that was hit and miss.  

 

She wondered what Denise would be doing right now. Probably stocking up the medical supplies they had received in their tradeoff with Hilltop. Maybe preparing supper. Tonight was usually the night they did lasagna and charades with Aaron and Eric. Denise hated charades, as did Aaron, but Eric and she had a blast and so they continued to meet -- their very own tradition. Maybe...maybe they could make their own traditions. Maybe when this was all over, they could make plans...for the future. Something not many of them tended to do nowadays. 

 

Mostly it was “Live in the moment, while you still can.” What was that saying? “Eat, drink, and be merry, for tomorrow you die.” Was that Shakespeare? The Bible? Some terrible action movie? She shrugged (there was no one around to witness her conversing silently with herself) and considered maybe trying to find a different game while she was out on this run. Maybe something like Trivial Pursuit. That’d be right up Denise’s alley.  

 

Footsteps crunching through the leaves interrupted her thoughts, and she looked up to see a man she didn’t know, approaching her. 

 

“You came in with the wounded woman?” he asked, without preamble. His voice was brusque, his manner no-nonsense. 

 

“I did. Is she gonna be okay? Is she gonna make it?” Tara scrambled to her feet, wiping her dirty hands on her even dirtier pants. 

 

“It’s touch and go. We’ve done all we can for now. She may need a blood transfusion, but we can’t do one of those without the right blood type.” 

 

“I’m O-neg,” Tara cried out. “You can use my blood!” 

 

“We will wait and see. As I said, it may not be necessary.” 

 

The man turned to walk away, and Tara called out to him.

 

“Can I see her?” 

 

“Now’s probably not the best time,” he responded with a wrinkle of his nose. “Besides, I'm sure you would find a shower much more refreshing, don't you think?”

 

He didn't wait for a response and turned on his heel, walking away at a brisk pace. Like being near her was offensive to his sensibilities.

 

“Well, fuck you, too, buddy,” Tara muttered under her breath. 

 

Still, she started the climb up the hill to the big house. When, and if, she did get to see Carol, she didn't want to bring a whole army of germs and bacteria along with her. 

 

She found her way to the showers and washed off what seemed to be a pound of dirt and blood, the cloudy water swirling around her feet. She scrubbed and scrubbed. She tried to reach her back and found herself wishing Denise had come on the run with her. They could be helping each other wash the “hard to reach places.” 

 

Tara snorted. What was she? A fourteen year old? She needed to get her mind out of the gutter. She rinsed the last of the soap from her body before stepping out of the shower to find a stack of fresh clothes, courtesy of the “fine people of Hilltop.” She dressed and then was on her way to find out where they were keeping Carol.

 

******

 

Something caused her to rouse from where was bent over with her head and arm resting on the bed. She swiped her hands over her eyes, and rubbed the drool from the corner of her mouth. There was little light filtering through the curtains so she assumed it was late in the evening. 

 

She turned to look at Carol. She had been sitting by Carol’s side ever since she had figured out where they had placed her. She was holed up in one of the big bedrooms, tucked up under a navy colored, down-feather duvet cover and propped on some fluffy pillows. Carol looked even 

more pale against the dark colors, though they almost matched the circles under her eyes. 

 

It was a miracle that Carol hadn’t needed a blood transfusion, but they were still waiting for her to wake up. She hadn’t regained consciousness since the car, but Tara noted her breathing was more even, less shallow, so that had to be a good thing, right? 

 

She reached over and clasped one of Carol’s hands in her own. 

 

“Carol, it’s Tara. If you can hear me, you’re gonna be okay. I’m right here and I’m not going anywhere. So you might as well quit being stubborn and just wake up right now. ‘Cuz I don’t have anywhere else to be, you hear me?”

 

She squeezed Carol’s hand and started to let go when she felt the tiniest movement, a flutter of a fingertip. She glanced up and froze. 

 

Carol’s blue eyes were open, watery, and looking right back at her. 


End file.
